Love Hurts
by Rolletti
Summary: Complete Peter is having a hard time waiting on Aslan and his siblings and England are suffering for it.
1. Chapter 1: Darkness

Love Hurts

I would like to thank electrum for crawling through the beta mire to help me with this story. She pulled me out of "Tense" hell on more than one occasion and delivered a wreath of late-blooming participial phrases and gerunds. I treasure that wreath.

All mistakes are my own.

This story takes place between LWW and PC, book and movie verse.

NO SLASH WHAT SO EVER only family tenderness

Disclaimer: I was poor yesterday, today and probably will be tomorrow. So please don't sue because the works of C.S. Lewis belongs to him and any affiliate that makes that claim.

Chapter One: Darkness

Why does Peter have to be such an imbecile!? He's High king of Narnia, Sir Peter Wolf's-Bane, Emperor of the Lone Islands, Lord of Cair Paravel… You'd think a twenty-nine year old would know how to conduct himself, even if he is trapped in a younger body away from Home.

He's not a King without a kingdom; he knows eventually we'll go back. Besides _we're_ here, ready, even now to follow him wherever he leads without a moment's hesitation. Of course, we're in England. Where would we go? But our loyalty to our brother the High King goes beyond question. Like I mentioned before, wherever he leads, we'll follow.

I know he desires to go back, so do we all. But his attitude lately has been beastly towards anyone who crosses his path, even Lucy. That was an unthinkable act and he suffered my wrath for it.

Susan, never one for conflict, not even in Narnia, tries to avoid him at all cost. Well, there is one conflict, a bother really. It's her constant nagging to get me to eat. So what I forget sometimes? I make up for it later…if I like what's being served. Two lifetimes of this harassment is unbearable and unfair.

These past few months have been awful, and I don't know how much more the girls and I can take. It _seems_ wherever Peter went, there was a limping, bloody boy left in his wake. If I'm there, I'm usually able to calm him, to remind him of who he is. I must admit sometimes the boys deserved his wrath, sometimes they didn't. Either way, Peter was wrong to react. If they only knew how their lives would be added as a notch to his belt if we were in Narnia and he had his sword, then they'd think twice before provoking him.

I know in the heart of my good and patient brother there is no malice, no darkness where he would intentionally do harm. It's not in his nature and it hurts to see him going against it.

That is why I constantly ask, beg, and plead with Aslan to send us back soon. Mostly for Peter's sake, because sometimes I feel he will loose his mind if we don't return quickly. He doesn't know what to do with himself, none of us do really. We go to school with many of life's questions answered already, and we just pretend to be a part of the innocents that surrounds us. Sometimes we slip up with courtly manners or speech, causing many teachers to raise a curious brow and then quickly cover our tracts with adolescent antics.

There is no court to hold, no diplomatic errands to run, no battles to fight to secure our lands, our home, for our beloved subjects. How do we adjust from that? We had a schedule we kept for fifteen years, and now…

We live in this indescribable anguish, and our High King suffers most of all. I need a drink. Unfortunately here in England I'm much too young for it, no matter how watered down the wine is.

You know, now that I think about it, Peter reminds me of a neighbor we use to have a long time ago. Well, not that long ago. Urgh, I'm still having trouble distinguishing the two time lines. Not long after they moved onto our street, I became good friends with Mr. Seal's son Desmond. We spent a lot of time together at each others houses and of course that included dinners. He was the answer to every mother's prayer at dinner time because he ate everything put before him, _and_ asked for seconds. Me on the other hand, well I won't reflect anymore on that. Peter reminds me of Desmond's dad when he suddenly lost his job. He was all right for a while, but as time past without any luck of finding another, Mr. Seal became distant and short with his family and friends.

At a tender age Peter managed to rule a kingdom and somehow become a surrogate father to my sisters and me. In my opinion he did both admirably well. But I see without his kingdom to rule Peter is like a father who has lost his job, and his behavior will likely mirror most jobless men who feel they have failed their families, which is not the case at all. He is our restorer, protector, comforter and councilor. He'll soon have that feeling of employment again I'm sure.

Meanwhile others have cause to fear or rather to be cautious around him. My brother is in a league of his own, the bugger.

tbc


	2. Chapter 2: Smother

I would like to thank electrum for crawling through the beta mire to help me with this story. She pulled me out of "Tense" hell on more than one occasion and delivered a wreath of late-blooming participial phrases and gerunds. I treasure that wreath.

All mistakes are my own.

Sorry about the wrong posting. LOL

This story takes place between LWW and PC, book and movie verse.

NO SLASH WHAT SO EVER only family tenderness

Disclaimer: I was poor yesterday, today and probably will be tomorrow. So please don't sue because the works of C.S. Lewis belongs to him and any affiliate that makes that claim.

Chapter Two: Smother

At boarding school Peter found himself reprimanded with warnings of being expelled if he continued to cause havoc. It wasn't his fault every time. Sometimes there was confusion between causing havoc and chivalry when he rescued an innocent victim from a bully's assault. Unfortunately for the bully, Peter has years of hand-to-hand combat skills, but clearly he holds himself in check. He takes care to use only his hands, not his knees, feet, head or any other part of the body that could do considerable life-changing damage. Ultimately he remains in control and I commend him for at least trying.

Throughout the day I don't exist to Peter Pevensie. It hurts. I try not to let him see that, but he's Peter, so I know he does. Perhaps he is trying to protect me from himself. After Aslan became a willing sacrifice, my relationship with my brother became insurmountable. Even our sisters were mesmerized by the power of our unity. But this chasm he's forcing between us, all of us, will be a fatal wound if he doesn't come around.

Now he waits, impatiently I might add, for Aslan's call to return Home. Meanwhile, he retreats further into himself as he pushes me further away. The slight is so painful at times it's hard to breathe as I feel a part of my heart, my soul, my spirit being viciously ripped from me.

But at night it's a different story. Heroically he comes to my defense while I'm helplessly trapped by Jadis, the only person who could make me cry out against my will, be she dead or alive. He seems to always know, even from where he sleeps in the hall of the upper classmen.

Then there are those times when I've just had a trying day, and he would just perceive my discomfort and appear. It makes me wonder… is he watching me? He knows how I hate that. Even when we were adults I hated it. There were always those quick assessments of me between battles; he's such a neurotic worrier.

Most times I protest his comforting hand knowing my roommate is watching. In Narnia we didn't have the restraints of _civilized England_, so I allowed his coddling. But here . . . I know my room-mate is watching . . . I can feel it.

Every time Peter tried to console he would ignore my protest. What else is new!? I could never fight him off when he knew I was distressed. Unfortunately the strain was the trigger of my nightmares, hence his persistence. Even though I put up a fight and show how insulted I am, I secretly crave his love and comfort, and he undoubtedly knows this. Eventually I would, "settle down, Ed," and absorb all that he offers me. He gently presses his lips against my forehead. I relish the feel. He whispers just how much he and Aslan loves me as I feel the muscles in his arms tightens, pulling me closer where I'm warm and secure.

If I think about my need for him too much I frighten myself. What teenage boy, well, twenty-six year old man if I wanted to get technical, needed this type of comfort from his older brother? But that's just it, he is my comfort, my security and I realized years ago, my addiction. Of course I'd rather rip out my throat with my bare hands than to admit that out loud. Peter _is_ the warrior who keeps my nightmares at bay with his presence alone, and somehow sooths me to dream dreamless dreams. I fall asleep wrapped in his warm embrace, snuggled safely in my familiar place, and then he's gone by morning. If it wasn't for his lingering scent I would wonder if he were here at all.

One particular day was a sordid affair. It was one of those days where you just wished you were never conceived. Those days are quiet common at an all boy's school. An hour after lights out I lay waiting for Peter, but he never came. I guess even the Magnificent can have a hiccup in his nurturing beacon.

I was afraid to go to sleep. I knew the seductress was there waiting to entice me, only to turn and viciously kill those I love dear.

So I lied to myself and said, 'She can't touch you, it's alright', and settled in for the evening. Charles, my room mate, asked if I needed anything. I guess I was a bit restless as I tossed and turned, unaware of my actions. What made me choke on the sip of water by my bedside was when he asked, "Shall I get Peter for you?" Sometimes I wonder if Peter hired him to watch me. I've been told on more than one occasion that I have a suspicious nature, but I _have_ caught Charles observing me, and it's disturbing. Of course I was offended by his question. Then I huffed, "No, why would you ask me an absurd quest…" The knob of the door slowly turned and in walked Peter quietly.

After my usual indignant, quiet fight in bed with my brother, especially after Charles' inquiry, he pulled me towards him with my arms still crossed tightly over my chest. Evidently my actions were amusing to him and I suspect I heard a faint chuckle from Charles too.

"Come on, Ed, be nice," whispered Peter, his fingers combing through my hair, his nails lightly scraping against my scalp. My weakness, _no fair_! He softly kissed my forehead and whispered words of brotherly love, a soothing balm to my frayed nerves which _he_ is the primary cause of lately, I might add. As I lay no longer fighting, I realized my room mate won't spread a teasing word. He'd rather not suffer Peter's wrath . . . or mine.

"Ed?" Why is he talking to me while I'm in this lethargic state he is responsible for?

"What do I need to do to get you to eat? You need to gain some weight, you're so light in my arms," whispered Peter ruining the moment.

"I eat, Peter," I sighed.

"Not enough."

"Leave it alone, Pete, I eat _enough_," I said as my voice rose in anger, forgetting about my room-mate's presence.

"Like what may I ask?"

"I bloody well have whatever my body requires, Peter so stop your…"

"Don't curse! Now just tell me what the bloody hell you ate today!"

"I ate enough, genius," I hissed through clenched teeth.

"Oh really, what did you have for lunch, because I didn't see you nor food in proximity of each other. You hardly touched your dinner and don't deny it. Tomorrow I want you to eat everything on your plate at every meal."

"You've been watching me!?" I pushed hard against his chest but he had me locked tight in his arms and wouldn't let go. My anger rose higher with the knowledge that I'll never, no matter how old I am, break free of his strength nor his spying. "I eat, you ridiculous, self-righteous, over bearing, overprotective… bloody imbecile!" I couldn't look at him because I was beyond irate.

I felt his finger slide under my chin as he lifted it up and still I refused to meet his gaze.

"I'm telling Susan."

"No, Peter, please!"

"I'll march right over to her school and escort her back, that's if I can keep up with her. You know you can't evade her when she's deliberately looking for you to put on some weight. She'll keep looking until she finds you, Ed. No matter how long it takes."

"I promise to eat, Peter, please don't!" I begged like a five-year-old child desperately clinging to the front of his shirt. I couldn't remember the meanings of any of my titles to give me the strength to fight back his threat. He was too powerful with such a weapon. Having Susan here would not be a one time affair, and there would be constant letters questioning my eating habits. She would arrive here before her letters would just to be sure my answers were truthful. What a low blow I've been dealt by the High King of Narnia.

"I'll hold you to it, Ed," he said with a smirk. Disgusting! Surely this will be a night for nightmares, with him as the main character.

tbc


	3. Chapter 3: Edmund's Prayer

Thank you electrum for wearing your super MEGA BETA cape. You're a great beta and teacher and I solute your excellence.

All mistakes are my own.

This story takes place between LWW and PC, book and movie verse.

NO SLASH WHAT SO EVER only family tenderness

Disclaimer: I was poor yesterday, I am today and probably will be tomorrow. So please don't sue because the works of C.S. Lewis belongs to him and any affiliate that makes that claim.

Chapter Three: Edmund's Prayer

"_Aslan, I know we are not to ask why, but I can't help myself. Please forgive me for having thought the question. Peter, the strongest tower in my life has helped us to cope when we were sent away from Narnia, even though he didn't understand the reason himself. He's having such a hard time emotionally now. He's unable to hide his grief anymore, although I've seen it all along._

_Please, Aslan, send for us soon. We're not needed, here. Why have you sent us away? We want to come Home. This land, this England is shadowed, a shadowed land where even the radiance of the noon day sun is dim. I'm constantly encouraged to eat more but even the food here taste flat and strange. Living here in exile away from our own is overwhelming. The burden of what is happening to our kingdom in our absence is too heavy. Our love for our subjects and the land run deep, please protect them. _

_Aslan, please hear my prayer. We are constantly protecting Susan from would be suitors. The upstarts keep coming around. If no one was good enough at Home, then surely no one here is worthy of her. _

_Neither Peter nor I can bare the sight of any self proclaimed love sick boy gazing at our Gentle Queen. I am instantly consumed by anger when some chap makes her blush. It only encourages them more. That is another reason I don't want to tarry here long, I don't want to lose her to this land, its inhabitants and its strange customs. _

_I love her and her warm motherly ways…except her nagging about my lack of an appetite. Everyone nags about it, but she's the worst with Peter a close second. When you bring us home, will you take that obsession away from her? As a diplomat I believe I could better serve the Kingdom without that particular wish from her three times a day. I'd rather not risk a repeat of another interruption of a successful peace treaty just so I would be forced, forced I say by my older sister, to have lunch. Not even Peter with all his courtly charms could sway her for the last five minutes I needed. You know I was embarrassed, Aslan, so I won't bother to tell you by how much! _

_I want to come back for the most blessed reason of all, Aslan, and that's to see you again. I deeply desire to embrace you, to run my face and fingers through you're mighty golden mane and never let go. How I've missed you and the look in your eyes of unconditional love. I've missed your hugs and the licks you give me on my forehead and the overwhelming joy I feel when I'm in your presence. I even missed the moments where the strength of your tail nearly knocks me over. How I deeply long for it all again._

_Poor Lu gets sick to her stomach just thinking of your absence. She knows we are going back too; it's just at times the reality of our presence here can be overwhelming._

_My Dearest, Sweetest Aslan, the only other I love above my brother, my faith in you has never wavered. I know that without a doubt you will send for us. I only beg and plead that it will be soon. Bring us back to the bosom of our people and our land. Amen"_

tbc


	4. Chapter 4: A Promis Is A Promise

I would like to thank electrum for catching me every time I fainted during the making of this story.

All mistakes are my own.

This story takes place between LWW and PC, book and movie verse.

NO SLASH WHAT SO EVER only family tenderness

Disclaimer: I was poor yesterday, today and probably will be tomorrow. So please don't sue because the works of C.S. Lewis belongs to him and any affiliate that makes that claim.

Chapter Four: A Promise Is A Promise

Mid-term of the school season I lay here watching Edmund sleeping, praying he won't become a prisoner of Jadis tonight. Since we had to leave Narnia then why couldn't he have left the sordid, vivid memories of his experience with _**her**_ there? It hurts to see the fear in his eyes when I wake him, when he believes he's still in his dream world. Why can't he ever dream that I'm with him, fighting along side him victoriously? Instead, I have to rescue him from the outside, to pull him from her cold dead hands. Sometimes it's hard to wake him, and I wonder if they _are_ nightmares-- or if on some level-- if Jadis' spirit is alive and tortures him when he's most vulnerable. So I keep watch. Hmph, Doing so started long before Jadis. When I look back I see that I was in training. It was the beginning of what I would endure in the future for my brother, to not only love, but to protect him with my very life.

(Flashback- Peter's POV)

Peter's eyes danced as he sat with his friends and family laughing, eating cake and drinking his favorite drink, lemonade. He was excited as he glanced over by the cold fireplace where a pile of presents lay unopened for his tenth birthday. It was grand to be ten and so many people were there at his party to help him celebrate the occasion. The house was filled with tempting aromas as his mother and grandmother made an abundance of food. There was ice cream, _actual_ _ice_ _cream_ at his birthday party, with decorations and exhilarating toe-taping music to make it all complete. He deemed it the best birthday he ever had.

As Peter and everyone in the room laughed at the silly antics of his cousin, he suddenly paused as he thought he heard a faint cry. He almost dismissed it because there was so much noise, but then he thought he heard it again. His brows slightly creased as he looked around the room and saw his sisters giggling with cousins he couldn't quite remember, and Edmund was . . . Edmund was . . . he didn't see Edmund. As a matter of fact, the more he thought about it, he had not seen Edmund for quite sometime. Curiously he walked around following that faint cry and wondered why no one else heard it. He looked at his parents who were having a wonderful time, laughing and talking with the adults in the kitchen. He saw his sisters both pause and tilt their heads as if listening to something in particular, but their attention was snatched away as one of the aunts gave them each a bowl of ice cream full of cherries.

Peter continued to follow that faint cry and looked for Edmund in the process. He never found his brother, but the cry led him to the bottom of the stairs. "Dark, dark, dark!" he heard the muffled scream as he climbed three or four steps. "Dark, daaaark," followed small pounding fist on wood. Peter rushed up the remaining stairs and burst into his room to find two wayward boys holding the closet door shut, trapping his baby brother inside. Pure rage, unlike Peter has ever felt before, sent him charging in with his fists flying. The painful attack was so sudden it took a second for the boys to register what was happening to them. The encounter with an enraged Peter inspired the boys to run for they felt their very lives were in mortal danger. Blinded with tears they managed to run to their mothers with swollen eyes and loose teeth, to terrified to answer a barrage of questions. Peter wrenched the door open to find seven-year-old Edmund wide-eyed and seized with fear.

Relieved that he found him, Peter crawled in under the hanging clothes and sat on the floor next to Edmund. He pulled him onto his lap and said, "I'm here, Eddy, hold on to me, it's all right. I have you. You're not alone, not any more." Tightly he hugged his little brother's shaking form and let him cry out his fears and hurt.

"Will they come back?" cried Edmund from where Peter placed him in the crook of his neck. Feeling completely surrounded in protection he found comfort in that spot, just the result Peter was hoping for, which later became a life long habit for the two.

"Come back? I promise you they wouldn't dream of it. Do you hear all that crying and commotion downstairs?" Edmund only shook his head, not wanting to leave his new sanctuary. "Well it's that bad rubbish making all that noise. I taught them a lesson they'll never forget, trust me."

Peter tried to keep his anger in check as he thought of the horror Edmund experienced being locked away from his family. And in a dark place too. With his eyes shining with unshed tears, Peter fervently _vowed_ to watch over his baby brother forever, no matter what. He squeezed Edmund after his trembling subsided and kissed his soft cheek.

"Thank you, Peter," whispered Edmund as he reached his arms up and around his neck to hug his very big brother, his hero.

Peter often thought about his secret pledge after numerous incidents occurred. He often wondered if God wanted to see if he would keep his word, because after that he felt he was put through a multitude of tests.

Three months after the closet incident Edmund was almost hit by an automobile, and two months later, he almost drowned in the lake. Each time Peter was there to rescue him and ended his lectures with, "Why can't you just do as you're told?" Two Christmases after his vow, he and Edmund went with their father to cut down the perfect Christmas tree. Of course Edmund wasn't where he was supposed to be and the tree almost fell on him. Peter sighed as he lay on his back in the snow with Edmund on top of him; he rescued his brother once again, _just_ in time.

"I'll save you the trouble, Peter. 'Why can't I do as I'm told? Sorry,' he said as he buried his face into Peter's neck and trembling arms hugged him tight.

Spring had come and the earth was shedding its blanket of white and waking up with a burst of variety of colors. Dad was away helping Uncle Steven repair his boat for summer, which they will all get to sail in once summer vacation begins. Mother had planted young flowers in the garden, the birds welcomed the new season and Peter enjoyed the warm breeze that played in his hair as he sat in his room reading.

Without warning, Peter's reading came to an abrupt halt. He had a strange and unsettling feeling. Being only twelve he didn't have the experience to evaluate such an emotion, so he shrugged it off and returned to the exciting pages of sword fights and the heroics of noble knights.

But the feeling came back, accompanied by a chill.

Confused at the sensation, Peter felt the core of his being spiraling down an abyss as he placed the book beside him. Slowly he rose to his feet as the chill spread throughout his body.

He left the room nervous and restless, where a moment before he was happy and content with the day. Walking down the hall he stopped and peeked into Lucy's room and found her having tea with her dolls. Further on he found Susan in their parents' room with their mother's high heel shoes on, strolling about. The only one missing was . . .

"Edmund!" he whispered.

"Su, keep an eye on Lucy, she's in her room. I'm stepping outside," said Peter, wishing his mother would hurry back from the market.

Peter decided to search outside the premises when he couldn't find Edmund anywhere in the house. Growing more concerned as he ran out the door, Peter's steps increased as he searched everywhere Edmund _wasn't_ suppose to be.

_Why am I the only one around when Edmund gets into trouble? Is this how Dad feels when something dreadful happens to one of us? I hope he doesn't take that long trip with Uncle Steven in his new boat, because I could never take care of Ed and the girls without him. Ed alone is too much work. When I grow up I'm never having children._

"Peter!" shouted Susan as she stood outside on the front porch.

"Yes, yes, what is it?" he said in near panic as he ran to the front of the house and saw the eldest of his sisters growing pale.

"Peter, where is Edmund?"

Before Peter could answer, they were interrupted by five-year-old Lucy who ran out and clung to her sister, wide-eyed and trembling. She looked across the yard and shouted, "Peter, Eddy . . . something is, something, I don't know . . ." and she turned into Susan and started to cry.

"I know, I know, I'm trying!" he said in frustration and fear as he looked around helplessly. "If only Dad were here . . ."

"Peter!" cried Susan, as she drew her brother's attention to a boy who ran desperately towards them.

Peter recognized him as one of the new neighbors, Desmond. He was about Edmund's age and he lived a few houses down and across the street. Peter ran to meet him, his sense of foreboding intensified.

"Edmund . . . Edmund . . . hurry, the old bridge . . ."

Immediately Peter felt himself grow pale as he knew exactly what bridge the boy struggled to warn him about.

Despite Peter's warnings against taking dares, Edmund decides to accept, just this once . . . for the last time.

_It's not as if Peter would find out anyway_.

Edmund chanced a glance back nevertheless; just to be sure his brother wasn't in the vicinity. Most of the time Peter showed up at what Edmund considered _**the**_ most inopportune time, just when he was about to have fun.

But when Edmund found out exactly what the dare involved, he sneered at the neighborhood bully and heatedly declined. But when the cheeky bugger skipped the double dare and went straight to the triple and quadruple dare . . . well, what was a chap to do but accept; especially in front of all his friends?

Due to the rumors of war, the abandoned wooden bridge was blocked off instead of repaired to the status of its glory days. It was missing planks in some places and creaked on a mildly windy day sounding as if it was possessed by spirits.

Edmund was to walk to the other side of the small bridge and back again . . . in three minutes. That last bit was thrown in to wipe the smug look off his face.

The melting snow of spring raised the cold river below, contributing to the roar as it rushed past to get to its unknown destination. Edmund looked down at the water after he studied the best way across the overpass, and willed the butterflies in his stomach to go away.

For the first time in a long time he wished that Peter was there to tell him to 'do as he was told' and go home. He would have gladly obeyed his big brother by running, without stopping, the entire way until he reached his bedroom. Grateful, he would have said absolutely nothing as Peter lectured him about accepting dares from nitwits.

Anxiously, Peter neared the bridge as a multitude of boys ran towards and past him with fright and terror written across their faces. His heart raced as he looked for Edmund amongst them. He wasn't in the crowd or along the remaining stretch of road leading to the bridge. When he arrived and didn't see his brother, he knew for a fact that his heart stopped beating as he broke out into a cold sweat. The birds had stopped singing and he suddenly felt the icy fingers of impending doom creep up his spine.

"Edmund!" he screamed as he looked around. His brother was nowhere to be seen. "Dear God, no!" he said as he raced to the bridge to peer over the side down into the rushing waters. "Edmund!" he screamed again, but there was only silence.

Peter turned to look back the way he came when he heard a faint whimper from behind. He looked across the bridge but there was no sign of Edmund. Wait! On the floor of the bridge, he barely saw the top of eight pale little fingers gripping the plank.

"Ed, hold on!"

With his heart pounding in his ears, Peter eased his way across the beaten bridge listening to every creak and snap warning him that he weighed much more than his brother. Stinging tears began to cloud his vision as he rapidly blinked them away. He reminded himself there was no one to help him and only he can help Edmund.

_So shake it off, Pevensie_.

He knew time was against him because of the latest use of the bridge, but he dared not move too fast across the unsteady structure. Precariously he inched his way towards Edmund, praying that God would help him, not only to grab his brother in time, but to get back safely. The rushing water below was hard to ignore as its song of terrifying power continued to intrude on his thoughts, making him more anxious. He decided to direct his thoughts elsewhere.

_When I rescue him this time I'm going to wring his neck._

Another step . . .

_I'm going to shake a world of sense into him until his teeth rattle. Then I'll shake him again, just for good measure._

A few more steps . . .

_If Dad won't do it, I'll spank him myself until he __**learns**__ to listen. _

As he took his last step, Peter could see the top of Edmund's head. When he moved a little closer Edmund looked up, and Peter's vision was filled with his brother's big, beautiful, terrified brown eyes. All thoughts of reprimand abandoned him as his arms ached to hold his little shadow.

"Eddy, you must be brave, all right? Don't let go until I tell you to," he said as he ever so gently lowered his knees, which gathered a few splinters, onto the bridge.

"I'll do as I'm told, Peter, I promise," the tremor in his voice gripped Peter's heart.

Leaning further over as he grasped both wrists, Peter saw that Edmund never took his eyes off of him. "Don't be afraid, Eddy, I have you. Do you trust me?"

There was so much fear in his brother's eyes, but he saw unfailing confidence as he nodded his head in acknowledgment. "When I count to three, you let go."

For the first time in his life, Peter was particularly grateful for Edmund's smaller size, something he and his parents have been concerned about since his birth. On three Edmund let go of the bridge and Peter slowly pulled him up towards him. But suddenly the board beneath protested _loudly_. Deciding a quick retreat was their best option- Peter pulled Edmund up- but his right hand slipped causing both boys to scream as Edmund dangled, straining Peter's muscles as he held on to the remaining arm. Panting heavily and blinking the sweat out of his eyes, Peter used both hands to pull Edmund completely up and they ran as the plank he was just on gave way and fell into the icy waters below.

"Run, Eddy, run!" Peter screamed as he held Edmund's hand in a vise-like grip. He was afraid to look back as he heard -and most alarmingly- _felt_ more planks give way. Fear twisted the boy's faces' as muscles strained and lungs screamed for precious air. Peter's longer strides forced him to practically drag Edmund -who kept stumbling- with him as they race for their lives across a dead, crumbling bridge.

With another three feet to go, Peter shouted with authority, "Jump Eddy _**NOW**_!" as they felt the entire bridge violently shudder. The overwhelming strain proved to be too much of a challenge and the bridge lurched forward before it began to shake apart. Conscious of Edmund's slight frame, Peter pulled him into his chest and turned to cushion his fall when they made impact with the ground. When their bodies slid to a stop in the mud, Peter looked up in time to see the entire bridge give way, filling the air with shock waves of horrific deafening cries of its death.

White as the previous snow, Peter looked over at Edmund, who managed to bounce out of his arms when they made impact. His brother was lying on his back as he tried to retrieve the air that was unfortunately forced out of his lungs. When he could breathe again and with his hand still gripped in Peter's, he cried. "I'm sorry, Peter."

Relieved and shaken beyond words, Peter dragged himself over by his elbows, not trusting himself to walk, and pressed his lips on the top of Edmund's muddy black head, allowing them to linger before he moved on to his soft, wet cheeks. He sighed as he lay shaking next to his younger brother, looking at the sky.

"That's all right, Eddy."

He squeezed the little hand as a bee flew past. "I think I'm getting the hang of this. I wonder what next year will bring?" he said with a hint of sarcasm at the clouds.

Swiping at his tears, Edmund looked directly at his hero, "If this doesn't make you magnificent, Peter, what will?"

Smiling faintly, Peter rolled onto his side pulling his brother tight against him. Ever so blessed to be able to hold him again, Peter whispered, "I don't know, but please don't try to top this."

(End Flashback)

"And of course you did, Eddy, a thousand times over," Peter whispered as he kept his vigil beside his brother, his fellow king.


	5. Chapter 5 Duty

Thank you Queen Electrum for all your help with this story. I appreciate you putting my mind at ease with the wretched tenses that continue to plague me, even in my dreams.

I saw this disclaimer on someones story and thought it a good idea to put on my own: I've read so much that I hope I didn't steal something from someone's story. If I did please accept my apology.

Chapter Five: Duty

In the absence of the High King it is my duty to stand in my brother's place, a duty to which I am no stranger. In the past I have ruled our kingdom in his absence and kept our family safe and strong. The problem I now face is to convince the High King that he _is_ absent without sending him further down the road of destruction.

Even though we are away from our Home, he still carries the weight of Narnia and his need to take care of us on his shoulders. So much so, I can still see his crown resting on his brow. Today is Saturday. I'll visit the girls to receive their council, and if they agree I'll face our brother alone. I will not allow them to be exposed to the hurt and betrayal his piercing eyes will express, the inevitable harsh words that will grieve our very souls ending with his tears of anguish that will leave him an emotional wreck. In private I will be able to shelter my brother, my king. To hold him, love him and support him just as he had supported me during my times of troubles.

I was walking across the school yard deep in thought concerning this matter when . . .

"Where's your baby sitter Pevensie?!" said a voice from the past.

Oh great, Mason Barlow. The last time I saw 'Mason the bully' was years ago when I accepted a dare from him to cross an old bridge. It was because of him I almost lost my life . . . well that year. I received the lecture of a lifetime from Peter followed by, what still surprises me till this day, a good sound spanking which left us both in tears.

I never saw much of Mason after the bridge incident, which I believe had a lot to do with Peter. I must admit, even after all that had happened that day, I can't help but to feel sorry for Mason. He had an abusive father who only became more abusive after the death of his eldest son, who went off to war. I know how Mason felt to see his only brother leave home for war with a confident smile of returning home on his face and praying for his safe return. I know how it feels to stand watch, praying to see his blond hair just over the hill. The only difference is his didn't and mine _barely_ did . . . many times over. I cannot pass judgment on this tortured soul knowing the root of his pain.

"Pevensie, I'm talking to you!" he shouted, regaining my attention as he slowly advanced towards me with a sickening smile. His head was slightly bent forward as his eyes never left mine, giving me the feeling of being stalked. "I said where is your babysitter? I'm surprised you're out here alone since he hardly lets you out of his sight." How is it that everyone, but me, is aware of Peter's "watchful eye"? "I've been watching you two. Walking around here putting on airs as if you two are something special."

"Perhaps they are?" That's when I noticed he had a new set of cronies snickering behind him, encouraging his taunting.

"Hello, Mason. I wasn't aware that you attended this school."

"Well I noticed you. I figured it was time that I reintroduced myself," he said, his imposing presence towering over me. He had grown. A lot. He must have been a foot taller than Peter by now.

"How are your parents, Mason?" Judging from the look on his face I seemed to have caught him off guard. Perhaps he expected to see that humble, angelic child I use to be. He quickly recovered and I knew the inevitable bomb lurking beneath his legendary temper needed diffusing. Besides I wasn't looking for a fight.

"Mason!"

Oh no.

"Well, if it isn't Peter Pevensie." Standing straight and tall with his shoulders pulled back, Mason sneered as he turned away from me and crossed his arms in front of his massive chest.

"Didn't I warn you to never show your face around my brother again?" It was obvious that Peter never got over the bridge incident.

"What's the matter? Afraid that I'll hurt his wittle feewings? Get over it Pevensie! Little Edmund has grown up. He doesn't _need_ you anymore. You're just in the way baby sitter."

Considering all that my brother has gone through emotionally since our return from Narnia, I wondered if these harsh words would effect him. Surely he knew it was a lie. I do need him. He's my brother, he's my father, he's my best friend. He's the keeper of my soul just as Aslan is the keeper of my spirit.

"I know another rickety old bridge nearby. Maybe this _thumb sucker_ would like another go," he said as he shoved my shoulder. "I uhh. . . ." It didn't matter how much bigger Mason was, he still managed to pale at Peter's approach full of vicious fury. It was his eyes. Those cold, dangerous eyes reserved for particular enemies who brought harm to his family.

I stepped in front Peter before he could reach Mason, who was suddenly abandoned by his cohorts. I placed my hand gently on his arm and whispered his name. I had to call his name twice before he would tear his eyes away from poor Mason and focus on me. I moved closer to gain his complete attention. Even through this living hell he has created for himself I am still his weakness. I and I alone can effectively plunge in the intensity of his rage that would explode in the absence of control. It had been hard of late, but I am still able to calm that mighty storm, to bring it to a state of serenity.

"Pete, he is but a child. I was just as horrid as he. Worse even, remember? By Aslan's mane, please let it go," I whispered.

I looked deep into his eyes as he studied mine, his breathing seeming to decrease. Victoriously I gave him a slight smile as . . .

"No," he said as he tried to step around me, intent on carrying out his promise made to Mason from years ago. I saw Mason take a step back as I once again bravely stood in front of that apocalyptic storm.

"Peter," I said grabbing his face, forcing him to look at me and whispered, "This is beneath your dignity. Are you not my example in life?"

_Got him._

"Stop it, Edmund. I mean it - stop." His fingers tightened around my arm as he led me out of Mason's hearing. "Don't look at me with those eyes like that, Edmund, it's not fair."

"What other eyes am I to use, Peter? I only have one pair," I said with barely a smirk, satisfied that I was able to reach him.

"I don't want you anywhere near him, Edmund."

I took a deep breath to calm myself. As if _I_ couldn't take on the insufferable Mason Barlow. I softened my voice. "I promise if you will."

"Edmund, I . . ."

"I know, Peter . . ."

"It's . . . I just."

"I know, but you must try. For his sake as well as your own."

We both turned to look at Mason, but he had disappeared.

_**NNNN**_

A few hours later I began walking towards St. Finbar's to see the girls. Ahead of me I saw Peter. I didn't know he was going; he should have invited me along. Just as I was about to call out, I stopped myself. Maybe the long walk alone will do him some good, maybe he could sort some things out.

Coming up opposite of the school I looked up to see Susan walking across the school yard. It looked as if she was looking for something, and judging by the way she was looking up into the trees, I assumed it was a _someone_: Lucy. She was quite surprised to see Peter. Slowly with the street between them they walked parallel of each other, and it seemed Peter was himself as he teased by making eyes at her. He caused her to smile shyly and shake her head slightly. Then he really caused embarrassment as he winked and blew her a kiss. I love and admire my beautiful sister and the sight of her reaction to our older brother reminded me of old times. He knew the more she blushed, the prettier she looked, and at the Cair he winked and kissed her in passing just to see her do so.

It filled my heart to see them now.

Unfortunately a cloud floated over that one opening of sunshine of my day. One of the fellows from across the school, Hendon House, admired my sister's beauty too as he stopped alongside Peter stuffing his hands in his pocket smiling. He leaned over and whispered something to Peter while still gazing at Susan. Before I knew it, Susan and I watched the boy limping away with a swollen eye and a bloody lip, a reminder to never look or speak about at our sister again. Well I must say, if Peter had not done it, I would have. How cheeky of that idiot, boldly looking at our sister as if she were a commoner. I can't explain it, but we've never, not even in Narnia, been able to tolerate boys or men taking notice of our sister _that way_. When she became a woman of course we had to give in . . . a little.

Susan, used to having boys only threatened by us for just glancing her way, was completely horrified and livid by Peter's loss of control. By the time Peter wiped the blood off his hand and turned back, she was gone.

Immediately I could see that he regretted his actions, but it came too late, and the damage had been done. Evidently he forgot about our little talk earlier concerning him and Mason.

Watching me as I slowly approached him, Peter didn't say a word. As we stood looking at each other, we both knew we had to find Susan, but first there was a little queen hidden in a tree we had to face. Peter, for his actions, and me for letting it happen.

_**NNNN**_

No matter how much Peter ignored me during the day, he attended every cricket practice and game of mine. He never said anything nor offered advice afterwards. As a matter of fact, he usually left right after the game without so much as a, "Well done, Ed."

I miss that.

We use to play cricket with Dad after dinner before the war. Sometimes the girls would join us, but mostly it was, "just for us men," as dad use to say. We even commissioned a set to be made in Narnia so we could continue to enjoy the game. We didn't get to play cricket as much because either Peter and I were on campaigns or we four were just too busy running the country. But when we did, we included the girls, with Susan putting us boys to shame sometimes. She would have made the Women's Suffrage proud as she'd hit the ball far beyond our reach.

One afternoon at the beginning of practice I didn't see Peter. I was use to looking up every time to see him watching me when it was my turn to step up as batsman. I was disappointed because I knew here on the field I had his undivided attention. Needy, attached, call it what you will, I'm a sucker for my brother. Although I pretended I didn't care one way or the other. His presence reminded me of his unconditional love even in the mist of his personal turmoil.

I looked down to ready my position and stepped back to prepare to defend my wicket. I looked up and did a double take when Peter took his place in his usual spot . . . I swear I did not see that ball. I was hit, pretty hard I might add, on the nose with the offending round object that was to be the catalyst of my nightmare . . . while I was awake. I'm going to kill that bowler for throwing a beamer.

It's amazing how something that is mortifying in the process of happening seems to happen in slow motion. I couldn't believe what I saw through stinging, watery eyes as I watched in dismay. Peter, my brother, my High King, and unfortunately at the moment, my father figure, rushed the field screaming my name. How mortifying to have your big brother run across the field because you have a nose bleed. I must admit, in all fairness to Peter, there was rather a _**lot**_ of blood.

Because of my shocking near death experience at Buruna and our past filled with enumerable wars and injuries, Peter's overprotective nature never ceased, even after our return from Narnia. I guess old habits die hard. Regrettably my shirt was extremely saturated by the time he reached me. I was in so much pain and seeing stars, I couldn't tell him to stop and go back. With as much force I could gather I repeatedly tried to push his hands away with one of my own as I continued my attempts to cover my nose. There was so much blood it looked like a murder scene and the massive flow continued.

Before I knew it Peter had his shirt off forcing it into my hands and then to my nose. I winced with the contact through tears the pain brought on. And no, I wasn't crying. The coach, demanding my brother to step aside, couldn't get close enough to have a look. The poor man was completely ignored and I was grateful he didn't become another victim where Peter would have to later apologize. There was a simple rule in Narnia that England wouldn't understand; never get caught between Peter Pevensie and any of his injured siblings. It just wasn't safe.

Then the _**most**_ unthinkable happened.

Fearing my nose had been broken Peter picked me up, _**picked me up I say**_, and carried me off the field towards the nurse's office! By this time I could talk and I protested a great deal while my throbbing sinuses felt as if it were hit hard by a spiked mace.

"Lion's Mane, shut up, Eddy!"

Great, he used my nick name. Not only am I his little brother, but in particular his _baby_ brother or is it just baby? He's lost it! Unfortunately when he was in that state of mind, there was no use in further arguing. How humiliating, I'll never live this down.

I guess I should be grateful for one thing; he didn't kiss me on the forehead in front of my mates. I looked up into frightened blue eyes and immediately I was washed in guilt. I no longer protested, remembering all the years of worrying and sleepless nights I put him through after a battle and the incidents before we entered Narnia. Reluctantly I gave in, like I had a choice, rested my head on his chest and let him carry me the entire way to see the school nurse. Maybe he was right. Maybe it was broken because I was in excruciating ¡wawwwwpain and the bleeding wouldn't stop. All right, all right. I admit I wouldn't have been able to walk the whole way, much less half.

**_NNNN_**

"You'll live, love. It's very swollen and bruised, and it's going to hurt like it's broken, but you'll live."

"Thank you, nurse," said Peter with a little color returning to his face as he took a deep breath. He looked at me with such relief as the nurse continued to clean me up. Of course he started rubbing my back, now out of habit I suspect. I believe he does it for his comfort as well as mine. There's no telling what injuries I suffered from in past battles are going through his mind at the moment.

"You're welcome, Mr. Pevensie. Now Edmund, to keep the swelling down, you must keep this bag of ice on your nose."

"Yes, Milady. I mean, yes ma'am." I would have found the slip funny if my nose wasn't throbbing. Peter's hand paused at the mistake and a quick glance at him told me he was too worried himself to find it amusing.

He brushed my hair out of my eyes-I really needed a hair cut-and said, "Don't move, Ed. I'll go and get us some fresh shirts."

I rolled my eyes of course and sighed.

"I mean it, Edmund!" he threatened, raising both eyebrows before leaving the room.

"I say, he's a bit overprotective," she said, looking thoughtfully after him.

I gave her a playful, evil grin. "You should see him when I'm _really_ hurt."

"I have a feeling that's a sight I'd rather not see so try to be careful. Well, I'll have to inform your mother of the accident," she said, smiling with rosy cheeks. For some reason she reminded me of Mrs. Beaver as she moved about talking to herself.

"She'll only tell you to inform Peter. Overprotective big brothers come in handy for parents," I said, sounding as if I had a stuffy nose.

Peter walked in five minutes later with a crisp clean shirt on and tried to help me into mine. I snatched it away from him, which was hard to do while holding a bag of ice to my nose. With a dirty look I assured him I could dress myself. It had no effect on him as he is now immune to my threats, so of course the look was ignored.

He quirked a brow at me, and then addressed the nurse again. "Is there anything else besides the ice that needs to be done concerning his injury?"

"No, I just gave him two aspirins to swallow. Edmund, be sure to take two more right before you go to bed. It will help you through the night."

"I'll make sure that he does," said Peter as he helped me off the medical bed and began to guide me towards the door. He must have felt me tense up because he looked at me searchingly. Actually, I was afraid he would try to carry me through the halls as he was still overly concerned. Peter smirked as he realized what I was thinking. I guess after years of parenting he had that advantage.

"Come on, Ed, no more practicing for you today," he said, smiling as I walked on my own two feet.

"Yes, he should lie down for an hour at least. Come by tomorrow before your first class to receive more aspirin, dear. It's _really_ going to hurt come morning," she smiled apologetically.

Great. Judging from Peter's worried expression, I now had a personal bodyguard for at least a week.

_**NNNN**_

As I sat on my bed, I watched the top of Peter's golden head as he kneeled before me to unlace my shoes. His actions were slow and he glanced up at me before returning to my shoes. He sighed, not for the first time since we arrived in my empty room.

Charles wasn't there and I hoped he wouldn't come back for awhile. I wasn't in the mood to merely satisfy his curiosity about the big purple lump in the middle of my face.

I was in so much agony Peter didn't have to coerce me to lie down. Knowing him it was inevitable anyway, whether I wanted to or not.

"I'm sorry, Ed," he said as he lay next to me, propped up on his elbow. Taking the ice from my hand, he held it gently against my nose. "Sorry I carried you across the field in front of your mates. I just loose my sanity when you or the girls are hurt, I can't control myself."

"I know, Peter, you don't have to say anything. I'm use to it you know," I said, still disappointed that it happened.

Peter pulled the ice away and just looked at me for what seemed like several minutes. His eyes held a deep mixture of love, sorrow and pain. He leaned over and kissed me lightly on the nose.

"I'm sorry I've been an imbecile too lately. It isn't fair to you or the girls," he whispered in continued sorrow.

"We're going Home, Peter. We just have to wait on Aslan."

"I know," he sighed. "But everyday I wake up with no sense of purpose, and it pains me to no end that I can't see the girls everyday. I love them so much. 'A king without a kingdom.' What an appropriate title."

"Are the girls and I not Narnians too, Pete? You have a taste of Home right here in your arms."

I saw unshed tears in his eyes when he leaned over to kissed my forehead and whispered, "My greatest treasures no matter where I am."

_**NNNN**_

"Peter, Peter wake up, somethings wrong with Edmund!" shouted Charles.


	6. Chapter 6: Trapped

I would like to thank electrum for wearing her super beta cape once again to save the day. Thank you a thousand times over.

All mistakes are my own.

This story takes place between LWW and PC, book and movie verse.

NO SLASH WHAT SO EVER only family tenderness

Disclaimer: I was poor yesterday, I am today and probably will be tomorrow. So please don't sue because the works of C.S. Lewis belongs to him and any affiliate that makes that claim.

I saw this disclaimer on someones story and thought it a good idea to put on my own: I've read so much that I hope I didn't steal something from someone's story. If I did please accept my apology.

Chapter Six: Trapped

"Peter, Peter wake up, something's wrong with Edmund!" shouted Charles as he came charging into Peter's room. "Peter, Edmund's screaming and he won't wake..." The boy found himself pushed out of the way before he could finish his sentence.

Peter's feet practically flew with his racing heart as the echo of Edmund's screams spurred him on, bringing back black memories of times of war in Narnia. When he arrived, there was a wall of boys in the hall in front of Edmund's door. "Get out of the way the whole bloody lot of you!" Peter threatened as he pushed and pulled onlookers, shocking everyone with his unbelievable strength. Within a few seconds he gained entrance and found a dorm parent unceremoniously shaking Edmund, demanding him to wake up. The man found himself crashing into Edmund's nightstand as he was suddenly pushed aside by a distressed brother. Peter, breathing heavily, held his brother's flailing thin arms in one hand and embraced him with the other.

With his body flushed with his brother's, he gently said, "It's alright, Eddy, I'm here. It's alright, shhh. Wake up now, Edmund, you're safe. Just open you eyes and see how safe I have you." His voice was gentle and yet authoritative. He used the bass resonating through his chest as a tool to help break through the struggling and pathetic moaning that consumed Edmund. With one hand behind his brother's sweaty wet head and one rubbing his back, Peter placed him in his reserved spot where Edmund has found comfort since childhood; the crook of Peter's neck. The front of his shirt was drenched in Edmund's sweat as he slowly rocked him while whispering words of comfort. "Shhh, I love you Eddy, come on I'm waiting for you." When he felt he'd reached Edmund beyond the torturing realm of his nightmare, he squeezed him tighter. Edmund's eyes popped open with a gasp, he was trembling as if he was personally pulled from Jadis' icy hands. "It was only a nightmare, Eddy you're safe."

Edmund felt a soothing kiss to his head while tightly embraced by his brother. With relief his own shoulders shook, accompanied by the flow of mournful tears .

After picking himself up, the attending dorm parent shooed the intruding crowd away, back to their own beds, now that it was evident Edmund was in better hands. Subsequently watching the Pevensie brothers throughout the year, he, a grown man, knew for some reason not to interfere in this situation. Not that he is afraid of Peter Pevensie . . . much, but the one who could calm him was incapacitated at the moment in his arms. There was something strange about those two and their relationship. They reminded him of a powerful force held in check. It showed in their actions and in their eyes.

They seem full of aged wisdom beyond their years and he wondered if the war had anything to do with it. Despite the attitude of the eldest lately, you can see the unspoken, fierce love they had for one another, the foundation of that force.

He'd rarely seen them talk to each other, but when they did, which sometimes was in disagreement, the eldest seemed to unconsciously groom the youngest; fixed his collar, straightened his tie or brushed the hair out of his eyes. And you knew the youngest was used to it because he kept talking as if unawares. Then they'd depart, without so much as a good-bye.

After catching Peter's eye, he bid him goodnight with a nod of his head and quietly closed the door.

_**NnNnNnN**_

"It was so real," I sobbed, clutching Peter to anchor myself in this world and away from the horrors.

"Shhh, Eddy."

"I begged her to stop, but she just smiled at me as she slit Lucy's throat. She . . . she made me watch her die. I could hear her gurgling . . . cry . . . " Even Peter started to tremble a little with such an image. "She then turned," I cried a loud silent cry as Peter tried to get me to speak no more. "She turned Susan . . . Susan to stone then took a sledgehammer to her." Peter's grip on me tightened, wishing he could rid me of the memory of Jadis forever. He's said so after delivering me from many nightmarish prisons.

I couldn't stop shaking. Even my teeth were rattling.

"She…she…she turned only parts of us to stone, bit by bit and forced us to watch each other as she would chip away at our bodies." My shoulders shook with uncontrollable sobs as Peter crushed me closer to his chest. I knew my brother and he wanted to absorb me into himself, to keep me safe from everything evil, even dreams. He did the only thing he could do, and that was to reassure me that he and the girls were safe from the reaches of Narnia's White Witch. Sometimes, after having horrible dreams of her, it's hard to believe she's really dead.

"Shhh, I'm here, the girls are safe and you're safe too, Eddy. Aslan defeated her, remember. Shhhhh" he said, looking into my tortured brown eyes. I knew they looked tortured because my soul was in agony.

"Must we endure these nightmares until our deaths? May Aslan deliver us from this wretchedness and from an event that happened over fifteen years ago," Peter whispered.

Peter started to let go and leaned as if to get up. "Please, don't leave me Peter, not now."

Later I was ashamed at how my panicked cry pierce his heart as I hugged him tighter around his neck. I was ashamed because I allowed my terror to control me. What kind of king or knight am I that I would fear my big brother leaving me? As if I was a five year old child! I've stood boldly against many adversaries and struck them hard within a heartbeat. I've fought unyieldingly with the High King of Narnia, annihilating our enemies. I shouldn't be so weak in the lingering effect of just a nightmare. But . . . what a nightmare.

"Shhh. I will not leave you, you know that," he whispered in my ear followed by another warm and cherished kiss. As I held onto Peter, I could see his hand trembling as he reached for the quilt our mother made for me. The account of my dream deeply disturbed him. I tried, oh how I tried to stop trembling myself, but the images of my siblings' death still gripped my heart and wouldn't let go. Peter flipped my damp pillow over and pulled the quilt over us as he laid us both down. His presence is a comfort as he holds me close, chasing away my fears and defying anyone, even the memory of the White Witch, to interfere.

_**NnNnNnN**_

(Charles POV)

_I watched again in awe and jealousy as Edmund's older brother did what my brother would never do. No, Edmund is no baby, and neither am I, but what would I give to have a brother who loved me as much and not be ashamed to show it. Only a true brother would comfort after a horrific nightmare such as Edmund had tonight. Sure, I know there is something bothering Peter, because he mostly kept to himself and ignored Edmund most times . . . well . . . unless something happened to Edmund of course. I've learned that Hell has no fury like Peter Pevensie when it comes to his brother. It's an amazing thing to see._

_**NnNnNnN**_

Charles lay watching Edmund by the pale light of the moon, listening as his roommate's breathing grew long and deep while loving fingers stroked his dark hair.

_It's not fair!_ Charles' last thoughts followed him into his own dreams full of his own uncaring brother.

_**NnNnNnN**_

As the sun bid us good morning, Peter stood in the doorway ruffling my hair with a smile. A one last assessment of my well being. Returning his smile I confirmed that I am well and he needn't worry. After waving good-bye to Charles, Peter gave my hair another tousle before leaving for his own room. I watched the retreating back of my brother-whose love can be quite smothering at times, but I wouldn't trade him for anything in the world. My smile faded with a sobering thought. I did trade him for Turkish Delight, the boy king who would fight and die for me. Peter must have known I was watching him, because he turned and gave me a wink, unconsciously reminding me what's past is past . . . and forgiven.

I know Charles is envious of our relationship. I can see the secret longing in his eyes to have a brother like mine. Folding the quilt I ask myself, would he be willing to switch lives with me and everything I went through, with his own life to achieve what I have with my siblings? Would he rather have lived as a traitor, not only to his own but to a whole country, to Aslan? Would he find it impossible to experience what would seem a lifetime in a bone chilling ice castle, begging for mercy at the sick and evil hands of Jadis? Could he bear watching his siblings tortured in his dreams year after year? Could Charles kill and then ride home for miles on a horse, the blood and entrails of his enemies dried on his skin and armor? Or to have his hands stained with the blood of a dying friend that he'd be forced to bury on foreign soil? Would he want to love a land and its inhabitants which he would fight and give his life for only to be exiled from it, his true Home? To live in a land that is cold and void by comparison? Would Charles want to see the prime of his life, only to go back and experience childhood again? Would he like to be a leading candidate to see a psychologist?

If he only knew the high price we've all paid to be this close. A price we've paid with our very blood, our very souls.

tbc


	7. Chapter 7: Have Mercy

I apologies to everyone for getting this out so horribly late. First I had computer problems, then the computer died and was resuscitated . . . twice. A new computer was purchased but real life decided it wasn't through with me and decided to put a pipe bomb in my evalovin existence. Oh yeah, it was pretty bad. After all that, I've rewritten this chapter twice with Electrum's patience. You see, the chapter was already completed by the time I posted chapter one of this story. *snicker*

I would like to thank Electrum for her unfailing beta love. She's been there through all my whining giving only words of encouragement. Thank you E. You're a silver lining on a cloudy, cloudy, cloudy day.

Look for Electrum's article found on the web site (Narnia Fan Fiction Revolution) titled "How to

Get Readers to View Your Story"

This is set between LWW and PC

Peter had been moody and somewhat quiet all summer. He took long walks alone - I should know because I followed him - to sort his feeling out I suppose. Adjusting to our new environment hasn't been easy for Peter. He became impatient with the world around him as he tried to force himself into a square hole. His countenance is a complete contrast with the rhythm of England. I saw the deep concern in Mum's eyes when she looked his way, and noticed how she tried everything to draw him out of himself. He seemed to only retreat further. Like always, I watched his back. So when I saw the hurt his actions inadvertently caused her, I would gently step in and steer her thoughts in another direction.

Sometimes it backfired.

Once I told Mum I didn't feel well, that my throat felt scratchy, to immediately distract her from my older brother's self-inflicted woes. Regrettably Peter overheard. Before I knew it, I had an electric torch shining down my throat, Peter's hand on my forehead and was instantly tucked securely in bed choking on some devilish elixir he shoved in my mouth.

Well, there was nothing wrong with that insurmountable, overprotective nature of his. Poor Mum . . . poor me!

Tonight's dinner was complete with Peter's favorite: spaghetti. Real spaghetti, not that flabby, canned, ration stuff we've had to eat because of the war, but hot, steamy, firm noodles served with tomato sauce and herbs from Mum's garden. Hot buttered rolls and a salad brought the whole meal together as we all sat at the table watching true gratification spread from Peter's eyes to his lips. I just smiled and shook my head. No matter what mood Peter was in, he always appreciated a good meal. None of it compared to the food at Home, but today's meal saw some possibility, especially if it brought my Peter back to his old self.

I couldn't find my brother anywhere in the house after we four put the kitchen to rights for Mum. Earlier I saw Lucy, our ray of sunshine, make an attempt to boost his spirits, but not even she could pull him _completely_ out of the doldrums. Although we never came out and said it, it unsettled the three of us to see him in this condition. He's faced so much in life, and by Aslan . . .

Maybe his despair, like a poisonous vine, has wound its way into my own thoughts because I have come to realize something: it could be many years before Aslan calls us Home. The severity of that thought was like a stinging slap across my face. Overcome, I leaned against the kitchen wall, unsure my legs would support me. A year has passed already, how much longer does He want us to wait? M_erciful Aslan, what is the lesson to be learned from this isolation?_

Finding the strength that eluded me moments before, I slowly moved out the back door. My chest hurt, as if a painful grip clutched my very soul. After drawing in a lungful of cool night air I became a bit more balanced and decided to take a walk near Mum's garden to clear my head. I continued to take deep breaths as I looked around. It wasn't sweet Narnian air, but it had to do.

My path was lit by the light of the full moon which prevented me from tripping over Lucy's shoes. I couldn't help but smile tenderly as I picked them up. Her running outside barefoot is a habit she'll never break; the grass was too inviting. Her ladies-in-waiting and Susan tried to no avail to convince her to keep them on her feet. Even into her twenties she would ditch the shoes when she thought no one was looking. Sometimes she would freeze in the middle of escaping them when she would find Peter frowning at her. But that was only if we were entertaining foreign guest and she forgot out of habit.

That hint of lavender in Mum's herb garden brings back wonderful memories of taking walks with Susan in our garden at Home. Looking around I see that our garden at Cair Paravel is extravagant compared to Mum's minute one. But I smile as I remember placing a few sprigs of the fragrant plant in my sister's tremendously long hair. Her eyes always lit up when I did so. It was the effect I always looked for before helping her sort out the problems that burdened her heart. I miss those walks . . . and her long hair.

"Will you forgive me, Ed?"

Startled, I peered through the branches of a weeping willow and saw Peter sitting on the ground leaning against it. I studied him, bathed in the ethereal moonlight as shadows from the leaves danced across his hurt features. Relieved, I walked towards the tree, parted the hanging branches and claimed my usual seat to the right of him. A hint of a smile crossed Peter's lips as he took Lucy's small shoes out of my hands, turning them over and seeing them with eyes of yesterday. With a sigh he leaned closer and rested his head against mine.

"For what?" I asked as we both stared out from our little hideaway.

"For being such an emotional idiot this past year."

"You mean that sunny disposition you've so graciously displayed at school? Hmm, I haven't noticed," I said deadpan. He tossed one of Lucy's shoes at me, both of us grinning. Slowly, my smile sobered as I looked past his amusement and into the depth of his tortured soul. "My lord, other than Aslan, you are my sun and my moon, my constant guiding light. How can I _not_ forgive you? I love you."

Ever so tenderly I kissed him on his forehead, and prayed that all I could not express would sufficiently be confirmed through my actions.

Well, Peter being Peter, teary eyed pulled me into his arms and held me close, nuzzling his nose in my hair. I snuggled in, basking in pure contentment as I always have, in this very loving spot.

"I don't deserve you, Edmund," he whispered.

There was a rustle in the tree above. Neither of us said a word as we looked up in companionable silence and listened to a nightingale deliver his song. It was an impressive presentation with whistles and trills. Since our return we've grown to appreciate the animals that live amongst us, especially Lucy. On more than one occasion Peter has found a cat hidden in her room. Not that they were injured or anything, she just wanted to rescue them from some terrible fate, or from a dog who wouldn't see to reason.

"You know," said Peter just above a whisper, not to disturb the bird, "It never occurred to me that we would return to the land of 'Spare Oom', having quite forgotten about it actually. I've always assumed we'd die in Narnia during our reign, either on campaign protecting Narnia, or old age. Why is it, Ed, that there seems to be no end to troubles, but quick endings to good times?"

I couldn't help but to put my arm around my brother's waist and hold him as I silently agreed.

"Isn't it time to return Home? I feel as if I'm losing my mind, Ed. I know this is where we were born, where we are from, but I can't convince myself, no matter how hard I try, that we _belong_ here. After we came back, I use to think about how much Narnia needed me, needed us, but really it's quite the opposite.

"I miss Him you know. I miss His sweet breath, His kisses," his voice hitched. "His loving paws as He pulls me into a hug. I miss His guiding wisdom as He lead me from battles to entertaining ambassadors. I miss losing myself in His golden mane . . . doesn't he know I need Him?" he choked.

By the time that was said, I couldn't recall who was holding whom. We were both desperately longing to surrender to the magic that would guide us back Home. The very essence of that sweet and dear land ran through our veins, the land we've saturated with our very blood over the years. _Oh Aslan_.

"Have you noticed the nervous twitches we've all developed?"asked Peter after he was able to compose himself.

It is quiet rare for anything to escape my knowledge, especially if it pertains to my siblings, but this time I must admit I haven't noticed thanks to Peter. He had been on my mind, filling every crevice with worry. But I'm not surprised he has noticed anything different about us. He's Peter, there is no other explanation.

"Your dreams of _her_ have increased, and you can't say it's because of my attitude lately." He said that last part quickly as he knowingly intercepted my protest. Peter gently placed his hand over mine and whispered, "And you've taken to rubbing your fingers over this scar she's responsible for," catching me in the very act.

Intertwining our fingers, he continued. "Lucy worries her bottom lip more so and Susan fingers her missing signet ring. Me . . . my jaw hurts because I clench my teeth. I didn't realize it until recently, when the pain started. And all of us, even little Lu has withdrawn some, not from each other, but from society as a whole. Even from Mum. I dare say . . . she feel the strain too." _By the Mane, he's right._

The raw emotion held in my brother's voice finally gave way. It's been a year. It was overdue. My arms tightened around him as he has held me for many years, allowing him time to emotionally cleanse deep within himself. I can't solve his woes, but I can hold my brother, my king.

_**NnNnNnN**_

_My Dearest Henry,_

_I hope this letter finds you well my darling. I miss you. I miss waking up to your smile, the spicy scent of your aftershave, and watching you play with the children after you've come home from work or dinner. I miss watching your eyes roll back in bliss following that first bite of your favorite dessert, which I'd spend half the day preparing. I haven't made it since. I'm so lonely without you Henry, so cold every night, even in summer. Your scent is fading away from your robe which I wrap myself in, and I'm scared. Do be careful, my love, come back to me. My heart and my arms ache to hold and shower you with all that is within me. _

_My love, I'm frightened. I'm frightened for our children. I wrote before how the they have changed since their return from the country, but I didn't tell you how much because I wasn't sure myself. I can't quiet put my finger on it, but their demeanor has changed, all of them. Since their return they have been the embodiments of perfection. I know that of itself isn't something to be concerned about, but considering their state of mind when they left . . . I don't know, maybe that Professor taught them certain characteristics during their stay with him. But that's not what frightens me._

_There is a lack of need to be looked after. They are no longer close to me or anyone for that matter, other than themselves. When I look at them, they seem . . . old. Not just older, but undeniable wisdom that is only gained with long life, even our darling Lucy. I sent them away frightened and unsure, but they've returned confident and somehow wise __beyond__ their years. All four are dedicated and devoted to each other beyond the norm, even Edmund. It is in him that I've noticed . . . the biggest change. I ask myself, what happened in the country that transformed them? Did I make a mistake by sending them away? They haven't done anything wrong per se, but . . . I know I'm not making much sense. You'll have to see them for yourself __**when**__ you return._

_I catch bits and pieces of their conversations and the one subject I hear most often is their desire to go home. It is a deep desire. I can see it in their faces. But they have only one home and that's here. Perhaps they mean the country! Surely they haven't grown attached to that place in such a short time. What am I to think, Henry, when I hear them express such longing? And each of them have developed a hint of an accent that is quite odd along with sayings such as, "by the Lion or Lion's mane." _

_They mention the name Aslan quite often. I'm assuming he's the professor's son, an older boy that made an impression that has brought out these little oddities. Once you're home I would like to have a chance to meet the professor and this Aslan the children speak so highly of. _

_Once I heard Lucy refer to Susan's crown and how she once accompanied Edmund to settle some dispute between people I've never heard of. Before leaving for the country she had such a vivid imagination, so I didn't give her stories a second thought. She mentioned one other time of her disappointment at Peter's refusal to commission her, __**her**__ very own sword when she __**was**__ nine. But what caught my attention was Peter's nonchalant answer that she wasn't yet trained for one. He didn't sound as if he was participating in a game to placate her. The whole thing is very odd. _

_You would be so proud of Peter, Henry. He watches and cares for his siblings just as you asked. It's evident that he has taken this task to heart. I've never seen a brother so tender and loving. Then again I find it a bit strange to see . . . __how__ serious he's taken . . . on this responsibility. He not only loves the children, but have shown himself as a grand authority in their lives and they obediently concur, if that makes any sense. _

_Lately he seems withdrawn. It could be his age, but because he is our first there isn't much I can make reference to. Perhaps it is something teenage boys go through? But even in this uncharacteristic mind set, he's there offering the children something before they realize they need it. Is that not the strangest thing? But what an example of his love. I laugh with the memory of Edmund not being able to sit because he received a spanking from Peter. It was evident he had enough of little Eddy's shenanigans, but finding him in tears as he comforted his chastised brother showed just how big his heart is. _

_Henry, I fear this letter is longer than I intended, and I hope I haven't burdened you with my anxieties, or shall I say overprotective ways. I believe Peter has inherited that gift from me concerning all three of the children, much to their dismay. _

_My Love, take care of yourself. May the Lord protect you during this war and bring you back to us safe and sound._

_I love you, _

_Helen_

_**NnNnNnN**_

Moonlight shadows danced about on my ceiling, reminding me of warm midnight gatherings with the Fauns and Dryads in the beautiful lush forest near the palace. Susan, hiking up her skirts trying her best to keep up with Lucy and the complicated dance around the fire, while Peter and I were doubled over with tears streaming down our faces with laughter in our hearts and cool refreshing wine in our goblets. My smile slipped as the fond memories were interrupted by the sounds of faint crying from another room. It was Lucy! I looked at Peter's empty bed as I was used to doing. He must have . . . fallen asleep reading downstairs again. Quickly and quietly I rolled out of bed, but when I reached for the knob I could hear Peter tell Mum, "_Don't worry about it, Mum. I'll take care of it_." As I peeked around my door frame I could see Peter walking into Lucy's room with concern clearly written across his face. Poor Mum, things have not been easy for her since our return from Narnia. If she and Peter stepped into the room at the same time, Lucy would run to Peter without hesitation. And I feel Mum knows this. I could see she was reluctant and hurt as she turned to go back into her own room. Once entered she quietly closed her door, but not before I saw a single tear fall. My suspicions were correct, she knew. What are we to do? She's our mother.

On tip toe, I quietly made my way down the hall and peeked into Lucy's room. A soft scent greeted me through the open crack of the door. What is it about girls, they just naturally possess a lovely scent without much effort. It was a fleeting thought as I heard the springs of Lucy's bed protest under Peter's weight. Especially after he easily pulled her onto his lap. The tender act -which we haven't seen in months- caused her to cry all the harder as she curled into him. I saw him swallow down the panic I could see in his eyes as he lovingly stroked her hair, placing a devoted kiss on top of her head. As long as I can remember, Peter always comforted us with the intimacy of a kiss. It's his own touch of magic I suppose. Just watching that loving display calmed my own panicked heart.

Not quite looking at him and crying out her concerns, Lucy questioned if she in any way was the cause of his foul mood. That's Lu, so tender-hearted. Of course she would burden herself with such a thought. Although Peter has been an idiot lately, I was happy to hear that she never once questioned his love for her. That was always a given and almost, if not nearly, a sin to give it any consideration.

Having firsthand knowledge of bringing any kind of pain to Lucy was grievous for my brother. The hurt on his face made my soul ache. He held her protectively as he reassured her that she had nothing to do with his ill temper and squeezed her closer while resting his head on top of hers.

A minute smile crossed my lips, relieved to see my brother and my High King this summer. I've missed him.

Since our conversation underneath the willow tree, I've seen less and less of the distressed High King and more of my mentor, my best friend, my hero.

It would have been foolish however to become completely oblivious to the possibility of a returning storm. I knew the immense weight of his absent crown would begin gnawing at him again, reminding him of our kingdom without its royals. I braced myself.

We all have missed our subjects, our cousins, and have missed living in harmony amongst them. That's something we'll never see here in England no matter how hard we try. One day we'll go back and I'm going to hug everyone I see, even Oreius if he lets me. I'll keep trying until he does. I wonder if we'll return as adults or our accursed forms as children. I'd rather not grow up again, but to be the man I once was. I was tall, strong, not as strong as Peter of course, but strong from years of wielding my swords and using them to bring peace in battle.

There is a factor we would have to consider and that's time. I hope we haven't been away too long -- Narnian time that is.

I watched as Lucy allowed Peter to rock and console her. Despite her childlike appearance, she really _**is**_twenty-four years old, and she too relishes the warmth of our brother's protective embrace just as I do. It expressed his heartfelt devotion and meant security and comfort.

I sat on the floor and leaned against the wall, listening to his soothing voice as he softly sang a most beloved song from Home. The next thing I saw was sunlight dancing on the ceiling above my bed. I sighed as I breathed in Peter's lingering scent, realizing I had been caught. As I turned to gather my pillow, I found I'd gathered an armful of Peter instead. He raised his head and smiled sleepily as he pulled me in closer.

"Go back to sleep, Eddy. It's not time to get up yet."

I snuggled closer in his warmth, not about to argue. _Thank you, Aslan._

_**NnNnNnN**_

Why does the end of summer vacation never feel like the end of summer? School should start when it _felt_ like the beginning of fall not the lingering leisure of summer.

These thoughts rushed through my mind as I tried to hurry to meet the train. After our talk under the willow tree, Peter has returned to us somewhat. But that only means one thing: If I'm late, he's going to kill me. _"But, Pete, I heard two soldiers talking about tactical maneuvers and I lost track of time." _No, that won't work. _"My watch stopped." _That may work_._

Although Peter has shown great improvement in his attitude, he still managed to get himself into three fights this summer. The first one he was provoked by some idiot, I saw it with my own eyes. The last two involved a couple of hounds whose tongues were hanging out of their mouths slobbering after Su. I conveniently looked away while he was as discrete as possible.

I've come to the conclusion that Peter hasn't lost faith in Aslan; he's just angry with Him. Exile is the consensus of our sudden appearance here in England, and after all, Aslan never said good-bye. I've tried to share with Peter my belief that we will return home, even for that very reason. Surely Aslan wouldn't send us away permanently without a blessing and a good-bye kiss. We _are_ his children. I've tried to tell Peter repeatedly, we all have, and I think he understands. I guess it's harder for a parent to listen to a child sometimes than for a child to listen to a parent.

_"I had to find a loo quickly because I'm still not used to this small bladder."_ I don't know, he might see through that one. Maybe I should mention something foolish about a large woman sitting on my electric torch . . .

Hey, who's that bugger talking to Susan? He looks familiar . . . I believe I've threatened him this summer. Hmm, I'm sounding more and more like Peter. Obviously Susan is trying to avoid him, probably to protect the sodding idiot. How foolish of him to try to have another go at her. This summer has been the worst. They were coming out in droves to get acquainted with _My_ Susan! There's Lu. Oh, good she and Susan are leaving. Why are they running? Is it really that late?

I couldn't help but smile as they ran across the road, filled with noisy automobiles and uncaring pedestrians. Even amongst all that chaos, Susan managed to look the part that has been ingrained in her for many years. One fellow even tipped his hat as she ran past.

My smile disappeared when I returned my attention to the impudent nitwit. I won't have time to confront that boy, but I believe a silent warning is in order and I'm sure it will be quite effective. Ahh, yes, he sees me. Oh yeah, he remembers me. Good! It's unfortunate I cannot wear a sword in public strapped to my belt or wield the steel blade of my knife. Aslan help us when it's Lucy's turn . . . again. I don't think I can bare it.

I guess I better get going and face Peter. I should not have lingered at that new ice-cream shop. His mood is probably foul now due to my tardiness. That stern look of his -mixed with overwhelming relief- will greet me the moment he lays eyes on me. My poor brother, he'll never let go. After living many years in Narnia I've come to understand that it's not that he won't, but he can't. Although Peter's overprotective ways can be quite annoying, I love him for it. I can speak for the girls when I say; there is comfort in it as well.

Hey, what's that noise? It seems to be coming from the platform.

Maybe I should use the classic, _"Pete, it wasn't my fault!"_ Why am I thinking up excuses? I'm a grown man . . . well, I was grown. Adult or not, I would still have to come up with an excuse for Peter Pevensie, brother extraordinaire. What _is_ that noise?!

It's amazing how many children are returning to school on this trip! An endless sea of young faces, a constant mockery of what was, and now is. They're everywhere and causing such a commotion from the sound of it. Oh no! I think I forgot my train ticket! Wait, that's right, Peter took it. Ha! He said I would forget it, I just remembered to check. Hmm it seems that the entire uproar is coming from…Hey, that's Pete! Three against one!

As I come to my brother's defense, I have only one thought . . . _Aslan, please bring us home soon._

~fin~


End file.
